


Don’t Go Far Off

by burn_me_down



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Brock Reynolds, Hurt Clay Spenser, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Team as Family, The Dog Is Also Family, Trent Is Not Impressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down/pseuds/burn_me_down
Summary: Off duty because of the flu, Clay joins the search for a lost child. Meanwhile, Bravo’s mission ends with Cerberus missing, Brock hiding something, and a storm coming that just might ruin everybody’s day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Floopdeedoopdee for giving me a prompt that I loved so much it ended up jumping the queue and superseding all the other stories I had planned. I hope you like it. :)
> 
> This was only supposed to be a two-shot, but I talk too much, so it’s probably gonna end up being more like five chapters.
> 
> Title from the poem of the same name by Pablo Neruda.

Clay Spenser has never really been prone to getting sick, which is possibly part of the reason he is so bad at handling it gracefully.

It’s especially maddening when his team is headed out into the field with a mission to complete, and Clay isn’t allowed to go with them because he’s got the flu or the plague or whatever the hell this is.

At first, he tries to argue that it isn’t even that bad; the ibuprofen has brought the fever almost all the way down to 100, he can sometimes go as much as two minutes without coughing, and he is totally capable of walking around under his own power. Once it becomes clear that Blackburn, Jason and Trent are all equally unswayed by those very compelling arguments, Clay goes off to crawl into bed and indulge in some good old-fashioned only-child sulking.

He’s too miserable to sleep and has already finished both of the books he brought along on this spin-up. He’s staring at the ceiling, bored and contemplating the potential benefits of learning to read more slowly, when Blackburn shows up with unexpected news.

A little girl has gone missing from a nearby village, and there’s a twist: her family only recently moved there, and none of them have become proficient in the local language yet. One of the village leaders, whom Clay met when Bravo arrived a few days ago, has come to request the assistance of ‘the man who knows the languages’ in hopes that the family’s dialect is one of the ones Clay is familiar with.

It is … sort of. He spoke it at a conversational level when he was a kid. The thing about knowing a language is that it’s a ‘use it or lose it’ sort of thing, and moving back to the States didn’t really leave him with a lot of opportunities to practice his African tribal dialects. He remembers some of them better than others.

Still, he’s probably got a better shot than anyone else at communicating with the child’s panicked family and maybe figuring out where the searchers should start looking. And being able to do something, _anything,_ useful is better than being stuck in bed staring at the ceiling. Even if he does kind of feel like shit.

Clay apparently isn’t hiding the ‘feeling like shit’ thing as well as he would like, because Blackburn looks at him for a minute, wearing a worried expression. “You sure you’re up for this? I want to make it clear that you’re not being ordered to assist. Say the word, and I’ll send him away.”

Clay coughs, clears his scratchy throat, and says, “I’m good.” When that is met with the raised eyebrows of skepticism, he adds more softly, “Eric, she’s five years old. If I can help, I’m going to.”

Blackburn sighs. “Yeah. I know. Just … don’t push yourself, okay? You’re just there to translate. Stay hydrated, bring meds with you, and come back if you start feeling worse.”

Clay looks at his commanding officer and thinks, _Huh. So that’s what it would have felt like to have a mother._

Even feverish and slightly addled, he’s wise enough to keep that thought to himself. All that actually comes out of his mouth is, “Copy.”

The drive to the village isn’t all that fun. The sun is nearly at its peak and the vehicle doesn’t have AC, meaning that Clay manages to feel miserably hot while also somehow simultaneously being cold. When they reach their destination, it’s a relief to step back out into the fresh air. There’s a breeze coming down from the arid mountains behind the village. Based on the billow of distant clouds, it might even be raining somewhere back up there.

The missing child’s family turns out to consist of a mother, who speaks no more than an awkward handful of phrases in the local language, and a teenage brother, who is a little more proficient but not much. There’s a lot of verbal stumbling and confusion, and Clay’s headache escalates, but in the end he manages to communicate and understand the necessary information.

The brother thinks he might know where the child has gone: a canyon he showed her a while back that she thought was an excellent playground, but that he warned her never to go back to alone because it was dangerous. Based on the mix of worry and frustration in the brother’s tone and body language, Clay suspects that this wouldn’t be the first time the little girl has ignored such a warning.

The children’s mother, who won’t be able to join the search over rough terrain due to disability from what Clay suspects is a clubfoot, teaches him a phrase in her dialect that he can use to call her daughter out of hiding.

Clay remembers Blackburn saying _You’re just there to translate,_ and he briefly considers trying to explain to the woman that he won’t actually be helping with the search, but then rejects that idea. It’s not like he was explicitly ordered _not_ to help, at least not in a manner that he will admit to recognizing as an order, and it really is fine. The breeze feels nice. The gauzy edge of the far-off storm has even begun to soften the previously harsh sunlight. He’s got plenty of water, plus medicine and food to take it with, and there’s a child in danger who has access to none of those things.

And okay, maybe his legs are shaking a little by the time they reach the canyon where they’re hoping to find five-year-old Bendu hiding, but it’s not like he’s gonna pass out. Probably.

The small group of searchers fans out to cover more ground, leaving Clay on his own. The canyon is long, narrow and twisting, with rock walls and a gravel bed. In some places the walls are sheer, and in others honeycombed with networks of small openings and caves.

The canyon has so many bends and turns that it’s never possible to see far ahead or behind, and the nooks and caves offer so many potential hiding places that it would be unfeasible to check all of them. It doesn’t take long for Clay to start feeling a bit hopeless about this search’s odds of success. He calls out over and over in the child’s language, hoping the canyon’s acoustics will somehow carry his voice to her, and hers back to him if she answers.

Even with the sun’s force lessened by the edge of the dissipating storm, the midday heat is still brutal. Clay wasn’t able to clearly determine just how long Bendu has been missing, but without water, she might already be in trouble.

After maybe half an hour of searching, Clay starts to have trouble determining whether the liquid shimmer of the canyon walls ahead is due to rising heat waves or his own blurred vision. He figures he’d better take a break if he doesn’t want to have to explain to Blackburn how he ended up passing out.

Clay is looking for a shaded spot to sit when he hears the shouting: a distant male voice, broken into incomprehensible echoes by its many bounces off the canyon walls. He waits, hoping to hear more, hoping someone has found Bendu, but there’s nothing.

And then there is something, but it’s not a voice. It’s a vibration in the ground, starting off so faint that Clay thinks he might be imagining it, then gradually escalating to a rumble that rattles the sun-warmed pebbles beneath his feet.

Oh.

Oh, _fuck._

Adrenaline swallows the fever, the exhaustion, everything. Clay hauls ass to the closest wall that offers footholds and starts to climb.

He only makes it a few feet up before the water hits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt to write Brock's POV! Hopefully it's passable. Happy Fourth to all y'all Americans out there.

When Brock Reynolds is bored, he builds things.

One of Brock’s favorite things about being dyslexic is that, in his case at least, it basically gives him the superpower of being able to effortlessly construct complex 3D models in his head, turning them from every angle to examine their details. This is sometimes helpful in the field and pretty much always helpful when it comes to designing his next project, whether it’s jewelry for his girlfriend or a new coffee table for his parents.

At the moment, Bravo is stuck waiting for something to happen and Brock is bored, so he starts planning a gift for Clay’s upcoming birthday.

Being a secret nerd stuck in the body of a Navy SEAL, Clay Spenser takes books with him pretty much everywhere he goes, and given that a lot of the places he goes aren’t exactly peaceful, those books tend to get tossed around. More than once, Brock has heard his teammate complain about losing his place in a book because the bookmark fell out. Brock intends to take care of that problem.

The set of bookmarks he’s mentally designing will be made of lightweight metal. They’ll clip into place, sliding down securely over the page so that nothing short of an IED blast will dislodge them.

Brock winces, regretting that thought as soon as he has it. Yeah, no. No more IEDs for Clay or Clay’s books.

Anyway, the bookmarks fulfill pretty much all of Brock’s requirements for gift-giving. They’re genuinely useful, he can make them himself, and they provide a perfect opportunity for Sonny to tease Clay about reading so much, at which point Clay will retort that at least he _can_ read, and Brock will get to sit back and watch the whole show.

Someday his teammates might figure out just how often he subtly goads them into bickering for his own amusement. If that day ever comes, it’s going to be _hilarious._

Bravo Team’s current mission has brought them into an area that has historically been pretty calm, with multiple belief systems - Islam, Christianity, various flavors of animism - coexisting side by side. Unfortunately, an outside extremist, a man who goes by the single name Ziad, has recently moved in with an eye toward changing that. He means to build an army through some combination of radicalizing locals and importing his own men from elsewhere. Bravo means to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to do that.

Mandy said she wouldn’t complain about getting a chance to interrogate the man, but her top priority is curtailing his ability to build his very own local terror cell. If they have to kill him to accomplish that goal, then so be it.

At present, they’re set up watching the house where Ziad has supposedly been staying, hoping for a chance to snatch or eliminate him. Thus far today, absolutely nothing interesting has happened. It’s hot and muggy and boring as hell. Even Brock’s dog seems a little annoyed with the situation.

The team is short a man due to Spenser’s illness, which means one of Cerberus’s people is missing, and the dog is moping in characteristic fashion: quietly, subtly, and with great professionalism. He knows he’s on the job and is therefore restraining himself to soft huffs and the occasional doleful glance.

“Sorry, buddy,” Brock tells him, not for the first time. “Clay’s sick, but we’ll see him soon.”

Cerberus huffs again and pointedly does not look at him.

Brock rolls his eyes. Sometimes it’s like parenting a fuzzier-than-average teenager.

“We’ve got movement,” Ray says softly.

Just like that, the atmosphere of boredom dissolves, replaced by sharp focus.

Unfortunately, the movement doesn’t belong to Ziad but to one of his most trusted subordinates, a man they’ve now seen several times over their past three days of surveillance. Of Ziad himself, there has been no sign whatsoever.

A quick check-in with HAVOC brings welcome news: Mandy thinks that if Ziad hasn’t shown up yet, he’s unlikely to anytime soon. Bravo has the go-ahead to grab the underling instead in hopes of getting a location out of him.

Even down a man, Bravo executes the task quickly and efficiently, eliminating the two extraneous tangos before snatching their new target. As soon as he realizes how much shit he’s in, the man crumbles like cardboard. It takes maybe 10 minutes to get a location. Which hopefully isn’t a trap.

None of them recognize the name of the town that is purportedly Ziad’s new location. Mandy does, but sounds puzzled, relating that it’s a small, majority Christian village - not a place he’d be likely to score a lot of new converts to his cause.

On the other hand, it’s also not exactly the first place anyone would go looking for him, so maybe that played a role in his decision to move there.

In any case, there’s not much to do but hand the underling off to local police and then pile into the van for another sweltering ride to the new target location. Mercifully, clouds begin to build. The leading edge of the distant storm starts to take the bite out of the heat by the time they’ve made it halfway to their destination.

In the post-storm, late-afternoon lull, the new village is quiet. The house where the HVT is supposedly located sits well apart from the others, out of sight of most of the village. It’s weathered and peeling and appears entirely abandoned.

Brock looks at the house and remembers Echo Team being lured to their deaths. Despite the lingering desert warmth, cold shivers over his skin.

The good news is that they aren’t met with any explosives. The bad news is that they _are_ met with one hell of a firefight when they get close, and their HVT squirts out the back of the house as soon as the shooting starts, disappearing into the jagged, sandy maze of columns and canyons behind it.

If he gets far out in there, they’ll have a hell of a time getting this close to him again.

While Trent, Sonny and Ray continue to engage the other tangos, Jason, Brock and Cerberus take out after the HVT, following him into the tangle of gullies and stone spires.

Turns out he finds them first.

Maybe 15 mikes into the search, after the shooting back at the house has stopped, Brock hears the faint scuff of movement and starts to turn, which means the freight train hits him in the shoulder rather than directly in the back.

Ziad’s considerable weight slams Brock to the ground. His head bounces off stone; his vision blinks out, coming back just in time for him to spot the glint, to get an arm up to block the knife. His head swims. He’s in trouble.

A furious streak of fur and teeth blindsides Ziad. The knife clatters away. There’s snarling and screaming. Ziad manages to claw his way to the weapon, picks it up, turns to try to stab the dog, and immediately gets shot in the head by Jason.

“You good?” Jason calls, edging over to offer Brock a hand up while continuing to watch Ziad for further signs of movement.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

While Brock catches his breath, stretches out his aching shoulder and praises his very good dog, Jason tries to call it in, only to realize that comms are currently down. Maybe weather, terrain, some combination of both. They look at each other, shrug, and Jason snaps a picture of the HVT’s face.

It’s right about then that they hear the yelling.

From somewhere behind and above them, Sonny and Trent are screaming to get to higher ground.

Oh. Shit.

With no time for further thought, they haul ass back the way they came, emerging from the canyons just before the flood arrives.

Panting, Brock and Jason stand back and watch as muddy water roars through what moments ago were empty gullies. Brock tries again to stretch out his shoulder, wincing when the movement only sharpens the ache. Did he pull something when Ziad knocked him down?

Brock ends up realizing two things at pretty much exactly the same time.

One: There’s warm dampness spreading down the side of his back beneath the body armor, originating from the injured shoulder.

Two: He can’t find Cerberus.


	3. Chapter 3

The water’s force is brutal, ripping Clay away from the stone he’s trying to cling to.

Probably the only thing that saves his life is the fact that, despite being swift as hell, it isn’t all that deep yet - an advantage that isn’t likely to last for long. Unless he wants to be remembered as the SEAL who managed to drown in a damn desert, he needs to get his ass in gear.

As the water drags him downstream, Clay fights to get his feet under him. The current slams him hard into the rock wall; he spins away, his hip and leg going instantly numb.

He manages to angle his heels downward, wedge his feet against a boulder for long enough to leverage himself upright and find a handhold on a jagged, uneven section of the canyon wall.

Dripping and exhausted, fighting through the numbness in his leg, he climbs up to a shallow high cave, rolls inside, and lies still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and get his coughing under control. His head pounds and his hands won’t stop shaking.

Will the water rise far enough to reach the cave? Hopefully not, because if it does, he’s probably screwed.

It takes Clay a while to get himself together enough to move. He’s soaked, bruised, and bleeding sluggishly from half a dozen fresh abrasions, but otherwise not in much worse shape than he was before. He’s damn lucky he didn’t drown.

Now to figure out where the hell he is, and how he’s going to get back to the village from here, and also how he’s going to explain all this to Blackburn afterward.

The cave system Clay is in doesn’t seem to penetrate all that deeply into the mountain, at least not at this point, but it does run along the cliff face as far as he can see in both directions. He has ended up on the wrong side of the canyon from the village, which leaves him with just a couple of options: wait for the water to recede - which could take a while - or try to find a way across.

He’s still deliberating his next move when he starts to hear the faint, echoey sound of a child crying.

There’s a dizzying instant of wondering if he’s been dropped into a horror movie before Clay suddenly remembers why the hell he was even out here in the first place.

It takes a while to pinpoint exactly where the sound is coming from, but he eventually finds the little girl, wedged into a corner, arms wrapped around her knees. She’s watching the water flow by while crying in that hopeless, gut-wrenching way children do when they don’t think anyone can hear them. No expectation of help, just raw despair.

Clay remembers crying like that, those first few weeks in Africa, before he started getting to know his grandparents and figured out that he was better off with them.

When he calls Bendu’s name, the little girl startles, goes silent, and tries to cram herself even deeper into the rock crevice. Clay tries out the phrase her mom taught him, which roughly translates to _It’s safe to come out,_ but the child just stares at him.

If he looks at things from her point of view, it’s got to be disconcerting to have a random white dude show up in your cave, somehow speaking bits and pieces of your language. Poor kid probably thinks he’s a spirit that’s come to drag her into the underworld.

He considers trying to talk to her more, but he has already pretty well exhausted his supply of phrases he feels confident using. As per usual with language acquisition, he understands a lot more than he knows how to say. His luck, he’d probably end up accidentally reassuring her that he’s only here to eat her soul.

So, instead of talking, he just opens his canteen and hands it over. Bendu’s thirst apparently overcomes her fear. After drinking, she edges a little closer and cautiously gives the canteen back. Clay then breaks off a small piece of his protein bar and hands the rest to the child. He would have given her the whole thing, except that he can feel his fever starting to spike again and that’s not beneficial to either of them right now. Hopefully a little food and another dose of medicine will help.

Apparently the water and food are enough to convince Bendu that a colorless spirit is better than nothing, because Clay has just finished taking his meds when he unexpectedly ends up with an armful of shivery, sniffling child. The little girl burrows in, tucking her face between his neck and shoulder, breathing in that hitching way that children do when they’re trying very hard not to cry.

Five is a funny age. It’s around that time that many kids start growing lanky and long-limbed, losing that adorable toddler chubbiness, but they’re still pretty little. There were a lot of children about that age at the orphanage, and when they were scared and sad and missing their families, they were really still just babies in desperate need of comfort. When Clay was a young teenager, one particular little girl fell asleep on his chest every night for weeks. He still sometimes wonders what ended up happening to her.

It’s been a while - damn near half his life ago - but the old instincts come back quickly. Gently swaying side to side, Clay pats the little girl’s back. He tries to remember if he ever knew any lullabies in her language, but nothing comes to mind, so he just hums wordlessly.

Gradually, the child’s breathing starts to even out and her shivering lessens. That last part may be partly because she’s currently attached to a human furnace. With his fever roaring back, Clay is now probably shivering more than she is.

His head aches. His hip throbs. He stifles a cough and winces at the thought of passing whatever this is to the poor kid and her family. Not like he can avoid exposing her at this point, though.

Now responsible for a young child’s life as well as his own, Clay has to try to figure out how to proceed. He doesn’t think the water level is rising anymore, at least not much, but it doesn’t really seem to be falling either - at least not fast enough for his liking. Does he stay put and hope that someone will find them before they run out of drinking water? Does he get moving and risk depleting his already limited energy reserves?

For the second time in less than an hour, he gets interrupted before he has a chance to make a decision one way or the other.

There’s something in the cave with them, it’s headed this way, and he’s pretty sure it’s not human.

Keeping the cave wall at his back, Clay shifts Bendu so he can get a hand to his Glock. Skin humming with tension, he waits, grateful that the front of the cave is open enough to provide clear lighting inside.

The sound of claws scratching against stone grows closer, and then the threat rounds a corner and barrels straight toward them, tail waving like a flag.

Clay blinks. His hand falls away from the gun.

_“Cerberus?”_

Clearly proud of himself, the dog pants, wagging his entire body. The emotion seems clear: _Found you!_

“How the hell did…” Clay sighs. “You know what, never mind.” He ruffles Cerb’s damp, muddy fur. “Good to see you, boy. Did you bring the guys with you?”

Judging by the echoing quiet in Cerberus’s wake, the answer is no.

Bendu, who had initially cringed as far away from the dog as possible, pops her head up and reaches out a curious hand that Cerberus immediately and thoroughly licks. That elicits a tentative smile from the child. Clay imagines she’s thinking something along the lines of, _So, the spirit person has a spirit dog. At least it seems nice._

Clay’s brain really wants to start trying to puzzle out how Cerberus could have ended up here without any of Bravo in tow, but he’s pretty sure he won’t like any of the possible scenarios, so he forces himself to let it go for the time being. Instead, he asks the dog, “Got any ideas?”

Cerberus bounces up, runs a few steps back the way he came, and then checks to see if the humans are following.

It takes Clay a couple tries to get to his feet without falling over, and when he takes a step, he has to lock his knee to keep his bruised leg from buckling under the added weight of the clinging child. Wherever they’re headed, they won’t be getting there particularly fast. It will have to be good enough.

“Lead on,” Clay says, and follows the hair missile downstream.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as Brock realizes he doesn’t know where his dog is, panic starts to claw at his ribs from the inside, superseding everything else. He struggles to lock it down, asking Jason in a carefully steady voice, “He was with us, right? Cerb was with us when we came up out of the canyon?”

Jason’s hesitation says it all. “I don’t know,” he admits.

Brock turns away. He doesn’t either. How can he not know? He should have checked to make sure the dog was following. It was just that he was rattled from the fight, caught off guard by the flood, and had no reason to imagine that Cerb _wouldn’t_ be right with them.

A few minutes of walking upstream and down, calling, yields nothing. There’s no sign there was ever a dog here, and Brock’s shoulder is starting to get a little distracting. He knows he must be bleeding for some reason, knows he should tell Trent about it, but all he can think is that they’ll insist on heading back to base then and Cerb will be left here all alone and Brock will probably never see him again.

The injury isn’t that bad, can’t be that bad. He’d know if it was. Just needs to throw some gauze on it and he’ll be good. Just needs a chance to do that, and then he can find his dog and they can all go back to base and listen to Clay whine about how bored he was while they were gone.

They try again to call in to HAVOC, but comms are still down. With no real sign of any imminent danger in the area (unless you count the flood), Jason decides they should split up to cover more ground. Brock tries to hide just how relieved he is, because that will give him a chance to patch himself up without getting found out.

Apparently Ziad managed to knife the back of Brock’s shoulder, the blade dipping just below the top of his body armor. From what he can tell, it’s more of a slice than a stab, and the only real issue is the bleeding. He packs gauze between the vest and the cut, deems it good, and goes on looking for his dog.

Yeah, Trent will be angry, Jason too, but it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and he _needs_ to find Cerberus. Brock refuses to live in a world where his dog died alone in the desert because he forgot to make sure Cerb was following them out of the canyons.

After a while, they meet back up at the rendezvous point, each with the same story: no sign of their lost team member.

Just as Jason is visibly trying to figure out how to break it to Brock that they need to leave, HAVOC manages to cut through the interference long enough to get a sitrep. The connection is choppy and unreliable, but Jason is able to communicate the mission success, explain that Cerberus is missing, and secure permission to continue looking for him.

The tension gripping Brock’s chest eases just a bit at the reprieve, but all their searching continues to turn up nothing.

It isn’t until the next time they meet back up that they start to hear the barking.

It’s surprisingly distant, coming from upstream rather than down, and it’s definitely Cerberus.

Brock’s dizzying wave of relief quickly gives way to confusion, because if Cerb wasn’t washed away by the flood, then where the hell did he go, and why?

Regardless, at least now they know that the dog is alive. Cerberus doesn’t respond to Brock’s calls, either unable to hear or unwilling to heed them, which leaves no option but to go to him.

During the walk upstream over broken terrain, Brock starts to realize he might have miscalculated just a tad, because he’s starting to feel awful. The bones in his legs seem to be transforming into jello. He’s vaguely nauseated and the cold dampness soaking his back is making him shiver, though the evening sun is still warm.

This is probably the point at which he should come clean, but they’re already so close. He’ll wait until they have Cerb, and then he’ll face the music and get Trent to patch him up better.

When they come into view, Cerberus gives a single, sharp bark that seems to say, _What took you so long?_ Then he turns and starts to head the opposite direction, looking back to see if they’re following.

Brock is tired, his mouth is dry, he’s getting a headache, and there’s a dull, constant burn in the back of his shoulder. He’s relieved to have found Cerb muddy and damp but none the worse for wear, but he’s also starting to get annoyed, because the dog’s behavior makes no goddamn sense. Brock needs for this to be over so that he can keep some of his blood inside his body.

Pain and exhaustion sharpening his voice, he calls Cerb. Ears drooping, the dog plops down, stares at Brock with an air of absolute despair, and refuses to obey.

What the hell?

Jason sighs. “Let’s just see what he wants to show us.”

Brock grits his teeth, resists the urge to shift his aching shoulder because he knows that will just make it bleed more, and follows his damnably opinionated dog.

Cerberus leads them upstream and toward the water. Their footfalls are soon drowned out by the roar of the current through narrow channels of stone. It looks like the flood is starting to recede a bit, but the force of the water is still fierce.

Brock swallows down growing nausea and focuses on walking, lifting his feet, putting them down.

He is in _so_ much trouble.

Just as Brock is about to give in and ask Trent for help, they round a corner and find Clay Spenser sitting on the ground with a small child in his lap. Cerberus plops down next to him, looking very pleased with himself.

Spenser glances up at them, squinting against the evening sunlight. He’s pale and bedraggled and scraped and bruised, and definitely _not_ in bed back at base where they left him.

Jason is the first to recover enough to find words. Those words are, “What the _hell?”_

“Oh, hey,” Clay says, and coughs. Judging by the blotches of color on his cheeks, he’s still running a fever. After a few seconds, he seems to realize further explanation is required, so he helpfully adds, “This is Bendu. She’s five.”

The child raises her head to give the team a baleful stare. Then she resolutely flops back down, locks her arms around Clay’s neck, and ignores everybody else.

“Spenser.” Jason is obviously struggling to stay patient. “Bravo Six, why are you here?”

Absently patting the little girl on the back, Clay mumbles, “She was lost, and they needed a translator, and there was a flood. Cerb found a way across, but I … got dizzy and...” He squints up at them again, and sudden, sharp concern crosses his face. “Brock, you okay? You don’t look so good.”

 _You’re one to talk,_ Brock thinks, but his brain has forgotten how to operate his mouth. His vision blurs; it feels like all the blood in his head is swirling away down a drain. He lists slowly to the side, only Trent’s quick grab at his arm keeping him from going down hard.

Trent gently lowers him to the ground. His voice is calm but urgent when he asks, “Brock, what’s wrong? Where are you injured?” When Brock can’t manage an answer, the medic switches his focus to Jason, asking, “What happened back there?”

“Ziad knocked him down.” Jason sounds worried, uncertain. “He got right back up. Didn’t think he was hurt.”

“Head injury, maybe?” Trent starts running his fingers over Brock’s skull. While Jason holds back a whining Cerberus, Sonny and Ray lean in to help with the search. It’s Sonny who finds the blood.

“Shit,” Trent says. “Why didn’t…” He trails off. “Maybe he didn’t know. Adrenaline.”

Their voices seem to be floating in from a great distance. Brock has just enough awareness left to feel sharply guilty and to dread what’s coming next.

Sure enough, they pull off his body armor, and Trent finds the gauze and goes very still and silent.

Brock figures that’s as good a time as any to pass out, so he does.


	5. Chapter 5

Jason Hayes really doesn’t like it when he thinks he has a situation figured out and under control, and then it suddenly blindsides him by morphing into something completely different.

Oh, he deals with it. He adjusts. Wouldn’t be able to lead a tier one team if he weren’t good at that. It’s just that it pisses him off.

He’s pissed off right now.

Ten minutes ago, Jason was confident that his entire team was safe, and his biggest worry was corralling their wayward canine and getting him back to base.

Now, Brock is unconscious. Trent is quietly furious. Clay is running a high fever and is covered in scrapes and bruises after half-drowning when he was supposed to be safe back at base. Oh yeah, and there’s a random small child whose presence Jason has yet to figure out, and she keeps giving them sideways glances that suggest she might bite anyone who tries to detach her from Clay.

How the hell does Spenser even _know_ her? And since when was Bravo Six this good with kids?

Jason feels like he’s wandered into an alternate reality. Brock having deliberately hidden an injury only adds to that sense of disorientation, because Reynolds is the epitome of a team-first guy, so quietly steady and dependable that they all probably take him for granted sometimes. Jason knows Brock’s bond with Cerberus is powerful, but it’s always been an asset rather than a liability … until now.

Trent has barely said a word since discovering Brock’s haphazard attempt to bandage his own shoulder. He has snapped into detached, professional medic mode, evaluating and treating his best friend with brusque efficiency.

Most of the team stays back and lets Sawyer work, trusting they’ll receive an update once there is something to report. Spenser, feverish and more than a little scrambled, can’t manage that much patience. He asks anxiously, “Is he okay? Trent?”

Trent allows himself a minute to deftly insert an IV before responding, “BP’s low, but he’s not in immediate danger of bleeding out. Probably passed out partly just from heat and dehydration. I think he’ll be fine with rest and fluids.” He hands Ray the bag of saline to hold up.

“Good,” Clay mumbles, his gaze sliding off into the distance, head falling back. He looks terrible. Now that Jason’s concern for Brock has been somewhat assuaged, the worry transfers to Spenser, so he hands off Cerberus to Sonny and goes over to check on his youngest team member. The little girl in Clay’s lap stiffens; Spenser revives enough to pat her on the back and say something to her in a language Jason doesn’t recognize. She still looks uncertain, but relaxes enough to lay her head back down on Clay’s shoulder.

“What did you tell her?” Jason asks.

Clay barks a deep chest cough, then replies, “I said _‘safe.’_ At least I hope I did.”

Though it feels weirdly parental, Jason goes ahead and puts the back of his hand against Spenser’s forehead. He winces. _“Jesus,_ man. You’re burning up.”

Clay sighs sadly. “Yeah. The medicine didn’t work.”

Behind them, there’s a slurred groan as Brock starts to come around; apparently the fluids are already helping. Hearing his handler’s voice, Cerb manages to break free and goes over to administer his own version of medical treatment, AKA enthusiastic face-licking. Brock huffs what sounds like a weak laugh and tries, in uncoordinated fashion, to reach up and pet the dog.

“Hold still till I’m sure I’ve got the bleeding stopped,” Trent tells him levelly.

Jason knows how this works: Trent will remain absolutely calm until Brock is safe, stable and no longer under his care, and _then_ shit will hit the fan.

While the medic continues to work on Reynolds, Jason manages to elicit a semi-coherent explanation from Clay about how the hell he ended up in the middle of nowhere with a little girl attached to him like a leech.

As the sun starts to dip low over the mountains, Trent decides that Brock is stable enough to move. Reynolds wants to try walking with support, but his knees give way as soon as they get him up, so being carried it is.

Clay, meanwhile, is out of it and barely seems able to support his own weight, let alone that of the gangly child who absolutely will not be separated from him. Jason and Ray both try to coax her away, with zero luck. Maybe it’s because Spenser knows a bit of her language or just because she met him first, but whatever the cause, the little girl’s mind is made up.

“It’s okay,” Clay says wearily. “I’ve got her.”

Jason ends up half-supporting him, while Trent and Sonny carry Brock and Ray corrals a re-leashed Cerberus. The last thing they need is a repeat of the amazing vanishing dog trick.

They do owe Cerb, though. If he hadn’t found Clay and the child, God only knows what shape they would have been in by the time someone from Bendu’s village managed to track them down.

That particular village is their first stop on the way back to base. It’s not all that far, maybe a half hour upland toward the mountains, but that’s enough time for Clay and Bendu to fall asleep with their heads leaned together. It’s unbearably adorable. Pictures are taken.

Once they reach the child’s village, they have to wake Clay so he can stumble out and hand off the little girl to her crying mother and older brother. There’s no emotional goodbye; Bendu forgets Clay’s existence the instant she sees her family. Spenser watches them for a moment with an expression Jason can’t read.

The drive back to base takes about another hour and a half. Brock sleeps; Spenser coughs a lot. Trent thinks Clay will be okay in the long run, but the exertion and near-drowning and hours out in the sun have obviously made him even more miserable now than he was when they left him back at base. He keeps gradually migrating closer and closer until Jason can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Finally, Jason sighs, gives in, and pulls Spenser against his shoulder, giving him a place to lean his head.

“Brock okay?” Clay mumbles.

Jason tosses a glance behind them. “Trent’s got him. He’ll be fine.”

At least until Trent gets around to killing him, anyway.

Spenser nods, shivering, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t move again until Jason has to wake him up because they’ve made it back to base.

Brock and Clay both get hauled off to the infirmary. Everyone else gets debriefed, and they all try to put together the pieces of exactly what the hell happened out there.

Later, staring at a passed-out Spenser who is now sporting both a nasal cannula and an IV, Blackburn gives a put-upon sigh and says, “I _told_ him he was just there to interpret.”

“Did you explicitly order him not to do anything else?”

“No,” Eric admits.

“Well, there was your mistake.” Jason lets the silence linger a bit before adding, “There’s a five-year-old girl back home with her family right now because he did what he did, so I guess I can’t be too mad at him. Brock, on the other hand…”

Blackburn exhales slowly. “Yeah. That one’s gonna have to be dealt with.”

“Yes, it will.”

Ultimately, Jason ends up being the one who’s there the next morning when Brock wakes up and is actually coherent, which means he gets to dispense the first lecture.

Keeping his voice casual, he leads with, “Trent’s gonna yell at you. A lot.”

Brock winces. “I know.”

“You deserve it.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause that stretches into awkwardness. Jason waits for Brock to try to defend himself, to explain, but he doesn’t seem inclined to, so finally Jason says, “Look, he’s mad. He’s furious. But it’s worse than that, because he’s hurt too. You’re his friend and you broke his trust, and it scared the hell out of him when you went down. When it took Clay, who had about three functioning brain cells at the time, to figure out you were in trouble.”

Brock stares at the floor, looking so much like a hurt, kicked puppy that it takes all Jason’s willpower to continue relentlessly, “We both know Trent isn’t afraid of much. Losing a brother he should have been able to save? That _terrifies_ him, and you put him in a position where he felt like it might happen. I know you didn’t mean to, but you did.”

Brock nods miserably. Doesn’t say a word to defend himself.

Jason sighs. “I get it. I know why you did it. But that trust I was talking about, it has to go both ways. You have to trust us to take care of you _and_ the hair missile. You’re not the only one who cares about that lump of fur. And Brock?”

He looks up.

“You are not replaceable. We can’t end up losing you because you’re worried about the dog. If your bond with him compromises your judgment, it becomes a liability. Do you understand that?”

After a minute, Brock nods. “Got it. I’m not even sure why…” He takes a breath, shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I was rattled, and I screwed up. Won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t. We’re gonna make sure of it.” Jason can’t quite keep the vindictive glee out of his voice. “From this point forward, situation allowing, you will be receiving a full injury check following every contact, no matter how small. This will continue until Trent deems it no longer necessary.”

Brock goes pale. For someone who hates being the center of attention as much as he does, this will be a nightmare. Which is kind of the point.

Jason has no doubt he’ll endure it, without complaining, for as long as necessary. Lapse in judgment aside, Brock has spent years proving himself as an operator who has always been willing to put the good of the team first. It might take a while to fully atone for this one, but he’ll get it done.

Before leaving, Jason softens the lecture with a shoulder squeeze and a faint smile. Then he drops by to see how Clay is faring. After getting a good night’s sleep (with the help of some heavy-duty meds), Spenser looks much improved. He’s currently propped up in bed, holding a pencil, staring down at a sheet of paper with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Whatcha doing?”

Clay looks up. “Hey. Uh, writing a letter.” Jason doesn’t push, but Spenser continues of his own volition, “It’s to a lady my grandparents worked with at the orphanage back in the day. Bendu, she reminded me of a little girl I knew as a kid. It’s a long shot, but I was kinda hoping I could find out what happened to her.” He shrugs, looking away. “Probably a dumb idea.”

“Nah. I think it sounds like a good idea.” Jason ruffles Clay’s hair, grinning at the half-hearted protest. “Get some rest. You’re all done playing hero for the time being.”

Jason continues on to their quarters, settles in a chair, and almost immediately ends up with a lap full of Malinois.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Jason tells the dog, who happily pants up at him, secure in the knowledge that he’s not just a good boy but the _best_ boy.

Scratching the dog behind the ears, Jason can’t help but smile a little.

Yeah. It’ll all be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all! As always, thank y'all for reading and saying nice things. ❤️


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